


From This Day Until the End of My Days

by lahijadelmar



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Mentions of Rape, Older Man/Younger Woman, Post-Canon, mentions of past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24003874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahijadelmar/pseuds/lahijadelmar
Summary: Tyrion has come to Winterfell to serve as Hand to Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North. There comes an evening in which many of the noble men depart with paid, intimate company, and Sansa wonders why he chooses to instead spend the time with her. A sweet little intimate ficlet that explores an alternative outcome to Tyrion's service after the events of the show.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	From This Day Until the End of My Days

**Author's Note:**

> The result of, yes, quarantine and being one of the only people in the world to do a Game of Thrones rewatch. This fic is technically part of the universe of my multi-chaptered story, I Burn, I Pine, I Perish, but it's in no way necessary to have to read any of that to understand this little fic, I don't think. So, there are probably also some spoilers here for what will happen in my longer fix-it fic universe, but again...nothing major, I don't think. Let's not get too wrapped up in that lol.

It’s been several months in her service now, time he has been glad to spend advising and speaking as her voice when called upon. True, the North was none-too-pleased to have a Lannister working at such a high position of power in Winterfell, but Queen Sansa reminded her lords that he was once her husband, and one of the only men in all of Westeros she would have charged with her life. There was no argument to be made after that. 

It has also been several months of increasing fireside chats shared just between the two of them, time that is rarely spent discussing duty and matters of the realm, but rather friendly and increasingly intimate conversation. It is good that they have each other, he thinks...and embarrassing though it might be to admit to the random Northern Lord, he would have only one of these moments before he took a thousand nights in the bed of the best whores Westeros had to offer. Hence, why he is here now. 

“You’re not partaking? I’ve never known Tyrion Lannister to turn down the company of beautiful, willing women.” 

“Beautiful women, no.” Though she can’t be sure to whom he is referring. “But I’ve changed a great deal since last we saw one another. Since our wedding.” He says the last part much softer, almost into his wine glass entirely. 

“No one? Since our wedding? That’s a very long time to go without.” 

“And so my watch began, that very night.” 

She doesn’t seem satisfied with this explanation and Tyrion’s grin falls as he realizes this. 

“I-...I wanted to do my duty by you. It was bad enough you were sentenced to marrying the Lannister Imp, I didn’t want you to have to endure a whore-mongering husband on top of everything.” 

“There was far worse I endured since.  _ Since _ . We never consummated the marriage, I doubt it was ever valid. Why continue to abstain?” 

Tyrion has the look of a man cornered- which, to be sure,  _ he is _ . 

“I suppose I just lost my taste for it.” But the truth lies in the whore he rejected in Volantis, the one he could have had,  _ easily _ , and wanted to have- and Sansa’s no fool, nor is she going to let this conversation drop without receiving a satisfying answer, so he eventually relents, “What may not have been real for the laws of Westeros was real for me. It is  _ still _ very real for me, even if most days it feels like a dream from long ago.” 

There’s a look of wide-eyed realization in Sansa’s face now, but she presses, “We barely knew each other, Tyrion…” 

He smiles wanly in agreement. “Yes. How foolish and short-sighted a heart can be.” 

“...and now?” 

He gives her a pleading look, because this is a question he dare not answer...and she dare not let him go without verbalizing. 

“Even worse, I’m afraid.” After a beat of uncomfortable silence, Tyrion feels he must defend his position. “Can you blame me, Your Grace? Whereas once there were only the embers in a young, frightened girl with bravery and wisdom beyond her years, now she stands a roaring fire, a Queen having come into her own. There was never any hope for me. But I am not a fool. You are far better than anything I could ever deserve.” 

Sansa only stares at him a moment, her lips (pink and petal soft, he’s always noticed, that now command armies and a kingdom) falling open slightly. He is flayed bare and humiliated, but he cannot deny his Queen. 

“Whatever you were then,” he continues. “And for what you certainly are now, I’ve wanted only to be your support and your strength. I’ve wanted only to share in your joys and sorrows. You’ve granted me this. How could I presume to ask for anything more?” 

She glides closer to him, cascades of flame-red hair falling down her snow-white shoulders. She’s obviously beautiful to anyone, he knows, but to him that beauty is without compare and beyond the understanding of this limited world. He doesn’t imagine there are words in any language that could do her justice. 

Sansa comes to stand before him, so very close, and though he wouldn’t blame her for ordering his exile right then and there she instead cups his cheeks, sinks her slender fingers into his hair. He is weak as all men would be and closes his eyes, leans into her touch. 

“It wouldn’t do for a Queen to admit her fear,” she says, but the wavering in her voice speaks all the things she cannot. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you. Please don’t be afraid of the ramblings of a heartsick drunk-” 

But whatever apologies he might conjure up are dead on his tongue, as she kneels down to face him, press her lips against his. Strange, that whatever world exists outside of their lips touching seems to cease to exist in that moment. There is only her, only the faint scent of something floral, something smoky- a fine wine he would like nothing more than to drink the entirety of. 

Still, he knows what she’s endured; men who violated the sanctity of her body with no remorse, so he will do nothing other than what is bid and asked of him. There could be a no more fortunate man in Westeros, he thinks, than the one being asked to kiss the Queen in the North. 

Of course, when she pulls away he remembers once again that he is her Lord Hand, and perhaps there is something entirely unromantic and poetic that needs to be said here. He has a duty to her, as he’s had since cloaking her shoulders, and Tyrion will die a traitor’s death before he fails to do right by her. 

“Your Grace…” he winces, hating the words even as they stumble out of his mouth. “I...I can’t be sure this is wise…” 

But Sansa smiles. “Your  _ wisdom _ can be such a bore sometimes, Lord Hand. What good is there in being Queen if I cannot kiss whomever I wish?” 

It’s a teasing rebuttal, but he finds there’s a helpful logic in it. 

“I am your Hand, and you are Queen in the North and-” 

“Please.  _ Please _ , for once, Tyrion. Shut. Up.” 

He doesn’t even remember the point he was trying to make, not as their lips touch again (deeper, this time), not as she’s bringing his hands up to embrace her. She trembles at this, only for a moment, until something between them eases and it all becomes effortless. 

It’s impossible to know immediately what any of this will mean, what the future will become with them having found a refuge in one another, but he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he will  _ always _ love her, the last woman he will ever offer his heart; his Queen, his savior, his wife. 


End file.
